


To My Son, a Miracle

by FroldGapp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen, Redemption, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/pseuds/FroldGapp
Summary: She can chart every moment of his life until the moment she left: how he played in the sand. How he rampaged about the house on all fours. His smiling eyes and chubby fingers.She never gave him up. She lost him. And she'd tear the universe apart to get him back.





	To My Son, a Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up! https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

The first I knew of you was a burn in my heart. Later came the roiling morning sickness, and, later still, your sharp, furious kicks. _Let me out!_

Your father almost suffocated me by the end of the pregnancy; clucking when he saw me bend to water the Rhododendrons growing in the shade of the house, fussing over me as I moved through my morning routine: a series of stretches that I’m sure he thought would topple me. But he didn’t understand. You didn’t interrupt my grace or make my tread less stealthy. You, miracle boy, gave me balance.

★

When you were born, I gripped the beam in the bedroom so hard it snapped through and brought the ceiling down on all three of us. I just thought you should know that.

★

You were a chubby delight. Robust as a weblum’s back, you tore about the house, sometimes on all fours, palms and soles slapping against the dry floorboards. Once, when we shared drinks on the porch, we jumped to our feet as you tumbled head-first down the steps. You rolled over, said, 'Ow-ah!' and climbed to your feet again, unfazed.

Your gummy mouth fell on anything within reach of your sausagey fingers: my ears, your father’s nose, his keys. An innocent gecko.

You giggled when I hoisted you up into the air, swinging you one way and then the other. ‘You can fly! You can fly!’ I would shout, and you’d squeal with each swoop and rise, the wind catching your black hair in a crown of soot.

At dinner, we’d talk and your eyes would follow one speaker, then the next. ‘He’s born to fly. He’s got something special.’

Your father laughed, pulling his potato away from your grasping hands just in time. ‘Every parent thinks that.’

He so often condescended when it came to you. I think he was scared. Scared of your brilliance and impossibility. You _are_ special. A miracle three times over, given your parentage. The universe has never seen anything as singular or as wonderful as you.

I didn’t know how hard your life would be. I didn’t know that, being so singular and so wonderful, you would also be set apart.

I’d answered your father, ‘I don’t care,’ and again, ‘I don’t care. He’s incredible.’

Why didn’t I turn to you then? Why didn’t I look into your bright eyes and tell you so? _You’re incredible. I love you and you’re incredible._

I wish I could have told you that. I think you would have understood.

★

The evening I left, you were playing in a sandy puddle your father had made for you with the hose. Digging with earnest intensity, your thick brows were drawn down in a stunning ‘V’. You always pouted terribly if you weren’t eating or laughing. Your shining red sandals were two fat beetles on the yellow sand. They gleamed. We always kept you nice.

‘What are you digging for?’

 _Teh-zuh_ , you’d said.

‘Treasure!’ I replied. You didn’t know what my flight suit meant. You didn’t know why your father’s hands wreaked of engine oil for the last week. You didn't know why I held you so tightly the night before, crying as you pointed at the pictures of the dog under the table, the dog in the box. Vomit ruptured up the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. ‘What kind of treasure?’

You hummed thoughtfully and feigned looking around. Your fat knees extended and you toddled to an awkward stand, throwing a finger at me. ‘Mama!’

I couldn’t speak. I smiled, top lip trembling, and passed you like a ghost ship: slow and without form. Why didn’t I place my hand to your feather-soft crown? Or scoop you up one final time? Like your father, I was a coward: scared of you. Of leaving you.

Of losing you.

I see you now. Your eyes, large and wary, always looking: sometimes darting towards the smallest movement, sometimes searching for a point fixed in time and far away. Your hands so cautious; so unlike the unafraid, greedy fingers I knew back then.

I lost you. I know you think I gave you up, but I lost you. I don’t deserve a second chance. But I want it.

Let me back in. Let me tell you how incredible you are.


End file.
